


tied up to this feeling

by carissima



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 23:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18226793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carissima/pseuds/carissima
Summary: “I’m pretty sure your shirt is cutting off the circulation to my arms,” he says mildly and fights off Willy’s attempt to drag his jacket off his shoulders to see if Zach’s exaggerating or not.“You wanna swap back?” Willy offers eventually, once Zach’s got him pinned back against the seat with one arm.Zach has no doubt that Willy would happily strip off on the team bus, and probably has at least a few times in the past, but Zach doesn’t share Willy’s exhibitionist streak. “No, you keep it,” he says with a sigh and leans back against his own seat. “Give it back to me later or whatever.”





	tied up to this feeling

**Author's Note:**

> thank you bee for the beta <3
> 
> warning for very mild possessive behavior

Zach’s half-listening to Brownie while he dresses, turning his head just a little and nodding every now and again while Brownie runs through the pros and cons of changing his flex, so it’s not until he’s got his t-shirt over his head and he’s trying to pull his arms through that he realizes he grabbed the wrong top. He looks around but he can’t find another t-shirt that looks like his, so he continues tugging until the material stretches enough that he can pull the hem down past his waist.

“Uh,” Brownie says, staring at him with raised eyebrows. “Dude. I think you might need to buy a bigger size.”

“Not mine,” Zach says and rolls his shoulders a little. He took a late hit from one of the Bruins late in the third and he’s starting to feel the effects. He’s going to have a hell of a bruise tomorrow. Fucking Bruins. He picks up his dress shirt and shoves it into his bag because there’s no way he’s putting it on if he doesn’t have to. “Someone must have put mine on by mistake.”

He struggles into his suit jacket and ignores Brownie’s snickering, fully aware that he probably looks like a douche in a t-shirt and jacket but his lower back is really starting to protest any movement he makes, so fuck it.

“You ready?” he asks Brownie, shoving his phone into his back pocket and shoving on his toque to hide his unstyled, fluffy hair. It mostly works but there’s a few strands trying to escape that he ignores.

They make their way to the team bus and Zach slumps into a window seat, weirdly hyper-aware of the oddly tight fit of his misappropriated shirt as he digs out his phone and puts his airpods in, relaxing as he taps his foot to the beat. They’ve got at least a 20 minute drive to the team hotel in traffic, and he’s just about to doze off when someone drops down next to him, taking up space the way only hockey players seem to.

Zach opens his eyes and cocks his eyebrows at Willy, somewhat surprised by his appearance. Willy tends to sit near the back with Kappy, if he’s playing, or Naz and Mo, talking shit for the whole journey, while Zach prefers the quiet he finds near the front of the bus, sitting by himself and letting all the juice from the game flow out of him until he feels balanced again.

“Hi,” Zach says, taking out his airpods, when Willy seems content enough to just stare at him. “Everything alright?”

“Did you forget to put your shirt on?” Willy asks, reaching across Zach to tug on the lapel of his jacket.

Zach blinks at the contact before he takes a deep breath. Willy’s only been back with the team for a week or so, and Zach forgot for a moment just how tactile he is. “Too much effort,” he says and watches Willy’s eyebrows draw together in concern.

“Fucking Bruins,” Willy says and Zach laughs quietly.

“Fucking Bruins,” he agrees. At least they won in regulation.

“So hey,” Willy says and draws his hand back to unbutton his shirt, for some reason and Zach’s eyebrows shoot up. He’s used to being around an undressed Willy in the locker room but on the team bus is new. “I think I grabbed your shirt by mistake.”

“Ohh,” Zach says and rolls his eyes. Willy might have been absent for the past few months but his habit of stealing clothes from teammates is locker room legend. “I should have guessed. You’re wearing at least a size smaller than you should, you know. Buy shirts that fit.”

“It’s called style, Zach,” Willy says solemnly. “I know you don’t have any yourself but you should be able to recognize it in others.”

Zach considers pulling him into a headlock to defend his pride, but there’s limited space on the bus and he doesn’t want to be responsible for possibly injuring one or both of them. “I’m pretty sure your shirt is cutting off the circulation to my arms,” he says mildly instead and fights off Willy’s attempt to drag his jacket off his shoulders to see if Zach’s exaggerating or not.

“You wanna swap back?” Willy offers eventually, once Zach’s got him pinned back against the seat with one arm.

Zach has no doubt that Willy would happily strip off on the team bus, and probably has at least a few times in the past, but Zach doesn’t share Willy’s exhibitionist streak. “No, you keep it,” he says with a sigh and leans back against his own seat. “Give it back to me later or whatever.”

“Sure,” Willy says easily.

Zach figures it’s the end of their conversation and waits for Willy to get up, but he settles more comfortably into his seat, his long legs nudging against Zach’s and their elbows knocking together. He doesn’t seem to want to talk, which is pretty unusual, but eventually Zach puts his airpods back in and turns to face the window, staring out across the river as they drive slowly through the late night traffic.

*

Zach puts Willy’s freshly laundered and pressed shirt in his stall a few days later. It’s only a little stretched around the neck and shoulders, otherwise Zach thinks it’s as good as new. Willy shoots him a grin and says thanks when he finds it after morning practice. Zach’s not like, staring or anything, but he’s pretty certain that Willy puts the shirt on after his shower, one hand skimming down the material to make sure it’s straight before Willy artfully winds his scarf around his neck and shrugs into his jacket, his shirt hidden.

*

Zach doesn’t get his shirt back, but knowing Willy as well as he does, he hadn’t really expected to anyway.

*

Zach loves winter in Toronto. It’s one of his favourite times of year, when the air feels crisp and clear, the outdoor rinks start to fill up and when he ducks into a coffee shop to write for a few hours to get his editor off his back, everything smells like cinnamon and ginger. It’s also his favourite time for hockey, aside from playoffs obviously, because the team always feels closer a few months into the season, everyone clicking on and off the ice, the end of the season too far away for anyone to seriously worry about just yet.

He’s a Toronto native, so he wears three layers wherever he goes and keeps his mom from worrying about him.

When Willy turns up for practice with his head bare, Zach narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

Willy catches him staring and pauses, eyebrows shooting up as he takes in Zach’s stance. “Uh, you alright, buddy?”

“Where’s your hat.” It comes out more accusatory than he means it to, but whatever. He swears he can see ice on strands of Willy’s hair.

Willy relaxes immediately and his dumb high-pitched laugh sets Zach’s teeth on edge. “Oh, I forgot. I thought I had one in the car but it turns out I didn’t.”

Zach is aware that he’s making a weird noise, somewhere between a growl and a grumble, so he turns his back to Willy and starts rummaging around in his bag. “Look, Willy,” he starts, pulling out socks and his spare scarf so he has more room to look. “I’m sure all that hair keeps your head warm or whatever, but this isn’t Stockholm. It’s fucking cold outside. You need to wear a hat.”

He makes a triumphant sound when he finds what he’s looking for and pulls it free, spinning around to grin at a bemused Willy, who’s currently rubbing his hand gently over his hair. “Here,” he says and thrusts his spare toque into Willy’s hands. “Wear this until you find yours.”

Still looking confused, Willy looks around and catches Kappy’s gaze. Zach glares over at him too, since Kappy probably borrowed Willy’s missing hat in the first place, and gets a mild stare in return.

“I dunno,” Kappy says, answering Willy even though he hasn’t spoken. “It’s pretty cold out there, bro. Just wear the hat.”

They seem to have some kind of silent conversation involving a lot of Kappy’s eyebrows moving and Willy’s head tilting in weird directions but finally, Willy turns back to Zach with a bright, honest smile. “Thanks, Zachy,” he says and reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “You’re a good team mom.”

Zach opens his mouth to argue, but promptly shuts it again because it doesn’t matter. Willy’s going to wear the hat, he’s not going to die of pneumonia like a fucking idiot, and honestly, Mo is the team dad so Zach doesn’t really have much of an argument to make. Besides, he’s tried before and it’s never gone well for him.

Halfway through drills, Willy skates up next to him with a slight hip bump. “I wear hats at home, you know.”

Zach frowns, watching Auston twist away with a slick move from Mo’s backcheck. “What, indoors? Do you like, take them off when you go outside? Is this another style choice that’s going to kill you or at least land you in the hospital?”

Willy gives him a gentle crosscheck that barely moves Zach’s skates, and he’s laughing. “No, dumbass. In Stockholm. It’s cold there too.”

“Oh,” Zach says, because that makes more sense. “Well, good. I don’t have to worry about you dying in Stockholm then.”

Willy shrugs and then decides to just koala himself around Zach from behind, holding on even when Zach halfheartedly tries to free himself. But he lets Willy hook his chin over his shoulder as their skates click together. “You’re really worried about me, huh?” Willy asks quietly, tilting his head a little so his breath tickles against Zach’s skin.

“We just got you back,” Zach says, slouching a little so Willy can fit a little better against him, even with all their hockey gear on.

“You missed me,” Willy says, but the words sound strange. There’s no teasing behind them, no crowing or triumph in his voice. If anything, he sounds surprised, which makes Zach spin around, his free arm out to catch Willy before he goes sprawling to the ice.

“We all missed you,” Zach says slowly. Willy’s looking at him with wide eyes that look all the more blue with his winter tan and his surprisingly thick blond beard. “You know we did.”

“Obviously,” Willy says easily. “Auston sent me a million messages telling me to sign or else, followed by a million crying emojis. Mitch was even worse.” Zach nods sympathetically. He can imagine; Mitch is needy after a two day break in schedule. “But you know. It’s still nice to know you missed me.”

“I didn’t want to pressure you or whatever,” Zach says, but then they’re being whistled for their turn to scrimmage and Zach spends the next few minutes trying to knock the puck off Willy’s stick. He only manages it twice, even though he’s panting hard, totally out of breath and Willy looks like a breath of fresh air when they’re done.

“Good job,” Willy tells him, patting the back of Zach’s legs with his stick.

“Asshole,” Zach says, half bent over to catch his breath. “I wanted to send you crying emojis, and sad faces or whatever. I thought you had enough going on though.”

Willy blinks at the sudden switch back to their previous conversation. “It’s fine,” he says, and Zach knows he means it, which only makes him feel more guilty. “Kappy was crying down the phone at me every few days. Full on sobbing, Zach. It was embarrassing.”

Zach snorts. “We both know that’s not true. You were probably crying too.”

Willy flashes him a quick grin. “I’m an emotional guy, Zachy. I’m in touch with all my feelings, unlike you uptight Canadians.”

“You’re fucking Canadian, Willy. You were born in Calgary.”

Willy lets out a peal of laughter that has a couple of the guys looking over at them with curiosity. “Semantics or whatever,” Willy brushes him off, his cheeks flushed prettily from laughter.

Babs calls out for line rushes, effectively ending their conversation as Willy disappears to the third line while Zach lines up next to Mitch and JT.

He’ll wait until after practice to send Willy a whole message full of crying emojis.

*

Willy’s missing hat doesn’t reappear, since he continues to wear Zach’s borrowed toque every day. Zach doesn’t mind, he’s got a million spare hats at home because he’s a good Canadian boy who knows how to be prepared, unlike his Canadian-Swedish teammate who seems to only own one hat.

At least Willy’s not going to die. And that’s the main thing, Zach thinks as he watches Willy pull Zach’s hat down over his damp hair after a shower.

He smiles to himself as he puts his own hat on, then waits for Brownie to finish getting dressed so they can grab lunch.

*

Still feeling a little guilty about the whole Willy contract situation, Zach makes an effort to spend more time with him. They’ve always hung out socially, even way back when they were Marlies, but now Zach makes sure to invite Willy over for dinner or to join him, Brownie and whoever else is around for lunch. Willy keeps shooting him knowing looks, but he almost always says yes to spending time together, even when Zach expects a brush off.

One evening he turns up without an invitation, looking tired and drawn.

“Sorry,” he says with a grimace and drags his hat - Zach’s toque - off.

So Zach sits him down on his couch, makes up a plate of leftovers and hovers over him until Willy demands he sits down because he’s making Willy feel nervous.

The whole team is painfully aware of how hard it’s been for Willy to fit back in on the ice, how hard he’s pushing himself in the gym to get stronger, how demoralising the media gets about his scoring drought.

So when Willy starts to drift off to sleep halfway through an episode of Brooklyn 99, Zach ignores his protests and half-drags, half-carries him to his guest room. Somehow he manages to strip Willy down to his boxers, ignoring Willy’s mumbled innuendos about getting Willy naked in his bed and shoving one of his old shirts over Willy’s head and down his arms before Willy falls back against the pillows, already snoring softly.

Zach feels something stir in his chest as he looks down at his teammate, maybe it’s envy, he thinks wryly because Willy still looks stupidly pretty with his hair fanned out over Zach’s white sheets. Or maybe it’s something more nurturing, he realises as he freezes, one hand in the air where he’d been pulling back from tucking a strand of Willy’s hair behind his ear.

“Stupid team mom jokes,” he mutters to himself and turns off the light, leaving the door slightly ajar when he leaves.

*

Mo likes to invite the guys over every few weeks during the season. Most of the guys have apartments but Mo’s one of the few with an actual house big enough for all the guys to come over and hang out. Zach’s one of the last to arrive, beer in hand and apologies for being late that Mo ignores. Rare days off in the season usually mean a work out, a meeting for E11 and at least a phone call with his editor, reminding him that his deadline is approaching, like Zach doesn’t know already.

The team is in a weird win-lose-win-lose pattern but they’ve got enough points on their division rivals for now, so the mood is light, with Mitch and Patty taking center stage in Mo’s backyard while Auston and Freddie seem to be talking about some fashion venture that Auston’s being really secretive about. Most of the d-men are hanging together; Mo and Gards are huddled over the grill, both of them gesturing at whatever’s cooking with what looks like a matching pair of tongs. Kappy, Willy, JT and Mango are further away, all flushed with a mixture of beer and laughter.

Zach walks towards them, pleased when Willy sees him first and grabs him for a hug. “You made it.”

“Well, yeah,” Zach says, shaking his head as he greets everyone else with a more normal fistbump or, in JT’s case, a paternal hand on the shoulder. “Just running late, as usual.”

“Did you sort out that thing with Laura?” Willy asks.

“Yeah, she’s gonna set up a meeting with my agent to sort it out,” Zach says, his hand settling on Willy’s back. “My editor,” he explains to everyone else’s blank looks. “It’s been, like, a whole thing. But I don’t have to worry about it anymore, they’re gonna settle it without involving me.”

“Cool,” Kappy says. “You got another book coming out?”

Zach rolls his eyes. He tries not to talk about his writing too much with the team but it comes up enough that most of them know he’s writing.

“Next year,” Willy says, sounding proud enough that Zach’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I promised Jacquline that she’d get a copy for Christmas.”

“Well, I mean, it hasn’t gotten a release date yet,” Zach says.

“Yeah I know, but whenever it’s released, I’ll send her a copy,” William says. “She’s read your other books.”

“Oh? Sounds like you haven’t,” Zach teases him and gets an elbow in the belly for it.

“It’s on my to-do list,” Willy promises, so blatantly lying that Zach tries to stop himself from grinning and fails completely. Which is about the time that he realizes the others have moved slightly away from them, talking among themselves and leaving him and Willy by themselves. “How was your meeting with the gamers?”

“Management, not the gamers,” Zach says, steering Willy over to a couple of chairs that Mo’s put out. He’s been running around all day and he kind of wants to just sit down, have a beer or two and relax. He pulls the chairs closer together. “It was fine. Lots of boring admin stuff.”

Willy wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know how you do all this extra stuff. I’m tired just looking at you.”

“I bet you’ve been lazing around all day, playing games with Kappy and watching Netflix,” Zach says dryly.

Willy kicks gently at his ankle, their feet nudging together. Neither of them bother to move. “I also called home, posted some sponsor stuff on Instagram and ate my body weight in sushi.”

“Oh, a busy day,” Zach agrees solemnly. He takes out his phone and opens up Instagram, finding Willy right at the top of his feed. It’s another Reebok ad, showing off Willy’s hair and thighs mostly and Zach absently likes it with a swipe of his thumb. “Too busy to do your hair, eh?” he reaches up to tug at Willy’s hat.

“Hey,” Willy laughs and pushes him away. “This took me ages to style just right.”

Zach looks up at the grey toque dubiously.

“Besides, I like this hat,” Willy adds, tugging his hat back into place and then fiddling with it until Zach grabs his hand and pulls it away, tangling their fingers to stop Willy from messing with his hair some more.

“Sure, I mean you wear it all the time,” Zach says. His gaze wanders down to where Willy’s white tee is a little stretched at the neck, dipping a little to show more skin. Almost like it’s too big for him, Zach notes. It takes him a few seconds to register that it’s his shirt, the one Willy mistakenly put on a few months ago in the locker room.

His fingers tighten around Willy’s subconsciously.

“Hey, everything alright?” Willy asks, stroking his thumb over the back of Zach’s hand.

“Yeah,” Zach breathes. Everything’s fine. He loosens his grip, enough that Willy could slip his hand free if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

Zach doesn’t either.

*

Zach is self-aware enough to know that he’s got a problem. A big, huge, enormous William Nylander-shaped problem.

For example, he knows that he spent the rest of the night at Mo’s place barely two feet away from Willy all night, constantly resting his hand on Willy’s back so he could feel the warmth from Willy’s body through his old shirt.

Right now, he’s standing in a bar with half the team in San Jose on a road trip, staring at Willy because he’s definitely wearing Zach’s old Uni of Michigan tee that he’d worn to bed that one night he’d stayed over. It’s kind of worn but Zach would know that logo anywhere.

“You want another beer?” he leans in, whispering in Willy’s ear. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, he could easily speak at a normal volume and Willy would hear him just fine, but then he wouldn’t see Willy turn his head into Zach, creating a little space that’s just for them.

“Yeah,” Willy nods, settling his hand on Zach’s hip as they step towards the bar. Willy’s hand doesn’t drop as Zach orders their drinks, and Zach leans into the warm, solidness of Willy’s chest. His hand slips around Willy’s waist, his fingertips slipping up under the hem of Zach’s old shirt so he can rest them over the waistband of Willy’s skinny jeans.

“You good?” Zach asks while they wait. He’s not sure if he means in general or with Zach’s weird possessive gesture, but Willy nods anyway and Zach relaxes a little. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel after this,” he says nonchalantly. “I’m kinda beat.”

“Yeah?” Willy takes his beer from the bartender with a flash of his usual bright grin and turns into Zach. They’re standing way too close, one of Willy’s legs slotted between Zach’s, his hand still on Willy’s back. “Me too, I think. You wanna come to my room and watch something?”

“Yeah,” Zach says decisively, his thumb stroking small circles over Willy’s skin. “Sounds good.”

They leave their barely-touched beers on the bar and say goodnight to the guys. Willy leads them out, holding Zach’s hand as they weave through the busy club and slip into an Uber. He doesn’t think twice about putting his hand on Willy’s thigh as they drive through traffic, chatting with the driver who turns out to be a hockey fan who missed their win over the Sharks earlier.

His room is two away from Willy’s, so he ducks in to brush his teeth, washing his face and change into his pyjamas before he walks into Willy’s room where Willy’s sprawled over the double bed, stripped down to his boxers and Zach’s shirt.

“I’m probably gonna pass out in ten minutes,” Zach warns and crawls into bed next to him. He slides one hand behind his head and yawns.

“Me too,” Willy says, curling onto his side to face Zach. “I could just turn out the lights and we could go to sleep.”

“Oh, sure,” Zach says and starts to climb back out of bed when Willy’s hand wraps around his bicep and squeezes.

“No, dumbass. You could sleep here with me,” Willy says, already sounding drowsy despite the wickedly strong grip he has on Zach.

“Oh,” Zach says again and leans back against the pillows. “Yeah, okay.” He turns onto his side and pulls Willy flush against him, their hips aligned and Willy’s hair tickling Zach’s nose. He wraps his arm around Willy, grumbling when Willy wriggles against him to no avail. “Go to sleep, Willy.”

Willy’s hand slides over his and they slot their fingers together, Zach curling his hand around Willy’s protectively.

“Goodnight, Zachy,” Willy says around a yawn.

“Night babe,” Zach mumbles, already mostly asleep.

*

Zach flicks over to the Caps-Pens game just in time to see Kessel score to put the Pens up 2-1. He’s sprawled out on Willy’s huge sectional with Willy’s head on his lap and he’s tracing his fingers across the letters printed over Willy’s shoulders.

“Nicky’s mad,” Willy says as the camera pans over the Caps bench. “Watch him score on the next shift.”

He doesn’t score, but he does set up Oshie on the shift after that and the score is level.

“I’m so full,” Willy yawns and slips his hand under his Leafs blue shirt to rub his belly. Zach can see tanned, smooth skin and he traces over the ‘H’ on Willy’s shirt again.

It’s rare for Willy to cook, but even Zach has to admit that he makes an excellent pasta carbonara. They’d both eaten seconds, nursing a beer each because they’ve got a game tomorrow, and now they’re crashed out on the couch, the dishes stacked carefully away in the dishwasher because Willy might cook now and again, but he draws the line at washing up.

Zach’s sleepy enough that he’s thinking about asking to stay the night so he doesn’t have to drive home. He looks down at Willy and blinks at the number 11 on Willy’s back.

The lights are dimmed, as they were when Zach arrived a few hours ago.

Willy’s softly stroking Zach’s thigh, idly trailing along the inseam of his jeans.

And Zach has a goddamn epiphany in the middle of Willy’s apartment. This is a date. And not their first, Zach realizes. And immediately feels like the dumbest asshole in all of Toronto. He’s been dating Willy - or Willy has been dating him? He’s not sure but this is definitely a date and they’re not even - like, they’re not. They haven’t kissed or anything. He stays over sometimes or Willy stays at his, and they’ve shared a bed but that’s just what they do. They both like to cuddle and Zach likes being the big spoon and Willy likes being the little spoon and they just like, fit together and-.

Holy shit.

They’re dating.

He stiffens. He can’t fucking help it, he’s having an epiphany or maybe a breakdown, he’s not entirely sure but it’s suddenly really hot in Willy’s apartment and he needs some air or something.

“Hey,” Willy starts, lifting his head to look at Zach but wow, Zach really can’t look at him right now. He takes the opportunity to slip from under Willy and stand up but then he doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he shoves them in his pockets. He knows he looks ridiculous, standing over Willy, feeling awkward as hell as the broadcast continues in the background and he just needs to get out of there, like, right now.

“I uh, gotta go,” he manages to get out and then he’s out of the front door before Willy can even get to his feet. He strides quickly to the elevator and presses the button. Then he presses it five more times in quick succession because all he can see is Willy looking at him, confused and lips parted, like he wanted to say something before Zach high-tailed it out of there with absolutely no explanation like a goddamn asshole.

Finally, the elevator pings and the doors open. Zach stares into the empty car before he sighs and stomps back towards Willy’s door. He doesn’t bother with the doorbell, banging hard on the door instead.

Willy opens the door, still looking confused and Zach pushes past him, waits for him to close the door before he pushes Willy back against the solid frame, stepping into his space.

“You’re messing with me,” he says with absolute conviction.

“What?” Willy stares back at him, breathing hard for someone who just walked from the couch to his door. He’s staring at Zach, his gaze dipping to Zach’s mouth and back up like he can’t help himself and Zach’s pulse thunders.

“You’re messing with me,” Zach breathes, sliding one hand up Willy’s chest, skimming his throat and cupping his cheek. Willy leans into his touch and his eyelashes flutter just a little. Enough for Zach to notice. Because now he’s paying attention, he’s noticing all kinds of things that he’s clearly overlooked recently. Like how Willy constantly dresses in Zach’s clothes. He must be stealing something every time he comes over. His name is plastered over Willy’s shoulders, his number right there on Willy’s arms.

“I’m not messing with you,” Willy says, tipping his face upwards just a little. His lips are parted and slick, like Willy’s been licking at them.

Zach’s heart rate goes crazy.

“Sometimes I think you’re messing with me,” Willy says and Zach freezes, his breath caught in his throat.

“No,” Zach says, strangled. “No, I haven’t been messing with you. I swear.”

“You kept giving me your clothes,” Willy says, and then he grins. “And I liked them. So I kept wearing them.”

Oh, Zach thinks and swipes his thumb over Willy’s cheek. “Yeah?” he murmurs. “I have a whole closet full of clothes you can steal.”

Willy hums thoughtfully. “Sounds tempting,” he says softly.

Zach’s palms are horribly sweaty and his heart won’t stop racing. He feels like he’s on a fucking high, like he’s scored two goals and he’s racing down the ice looking for a third. “My apartment is pretty nice, and I cook most nights,” he says, tightening his hand where it’s resting on Willy’s hip.

“I know, dumbass,” Willy says, looking thoroughly delighted. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Uh,” Zach flounders for a second because this is not really how he’d pictured kissing Willy for the first time. To be honest, he’d only thought about it for the first time two minutes ago, but this wasn’t how it went. “No.”

Willy’s eyebrows raise. “No?” he repeats in surprise.

“No,” Zach says firmly and grabs his hand. He drags Willy through the apartment until they reach Willy’s bedroom door, and then he stops.

“You can open it,” Willy says, sounding amused.

Flustered, Zach makes a frustrated noise and pushes through the door, slamming it behind them and pushing Willy up against it. Eyes wide, Willy stares at him but at least he’s finally silent.

“You just, like, kept wearing my clothes and it drove me crazy,” Zach says, pinning Willy to the door. “I just wanted to touch you like, all the time. And I didn’t really understand why until now. Because now, I just want to do this over and over again.” And Zach kisses him.

He takes it slow, drawing out small, intimate kisses until Willy’s lips are bright pink and his hair is a little mussed. They’re both breathing hard and Zach groans as he leans back in, sliding his tongue into Willy’s mouth and swallowing every groan, every hitch of breath, every whine that Willy makes. “Every time you wore my clothes,” Zach mumbles against his lips, “I wanted to rip them off you.”

Willy kisses him breathlessly, wriggling to get Zach’s shirt off him without breaking the kiss. It’s impossible, but Willy keeps trying until Zach pins him back against the door and takes the shirt off himself. “Fuck,” Zach mutters when it’s off and Willy’s standing in front of him, bare tanned chest on display. “Willy, Jesus.”

“Off, off,” Willy chants, grabbing at Zach’s top and doing a better job of taking it off than he had with his own shirt. Then he slides his hands up and down Zach’s arms and groans. “We’re totally having sex, right? This is like, our ninth date or whatever.”

Zach laughs helplessly and lets Willy back him up until the back of his legs hit the bed and they topple down together, arms wrapped around each other. “Have you been counting?” Zach murmurs, pressing a kiss to Willy’s neck that has him arching into Zach’s touch.

“Maybe, fuck,” Willy curses and straddles Zach’s hips. “I swear, if you don’t start touching me like you fucking mean it, Zach.”

Zach runs his hand down Willy’s back, humming happily when Willy shudders against him. “I always touch you like I mean it,” he murmurs and drags him down for another wet, thorough kiss.

*

Zach wakes up with something - someone - heavy lying across his chest. He feels better than he has in months, even though he’s got a nagging injury to his left calf and a permanent bruise on his side that probably won’t fade until long after the season’s over. They’d been too worked up last night to manage more than a blowjob and two handies, but when Zach had woken in the middle of the night, he’d woken Willy up with another blowjob - his jaw is already aching in protest but he has zero regrets - and a little light fingering that had made Willy scream. He lightly brushes his hand over Willy’s ass, still feeling a little possessive.

“We’ve got a game,” Willy mumbles into Zach’s chest. “You’re not fucking me.”

Zach sighs exaggeratedly. “This is exactly as romantic as I’d always hoped it would be,” he says wistfully.

“Just as romantic to being woken up with your mouth on my dick and your finger up my ass,” Willy grumbles, although since he’s slowly rocking his hips against Zach’s, his dick getting hard and his breath hitching, Zach doesn’t think he’s that mad about it.

“Sorry,” Zach murmurs, rolling over Willy and rutting against him.

“Fuck romance,” Willy says and grabs a handful of Zach’s ass. They rub off on each other, slow and steady and panting between kisses.

“I’m borrowing a shirt,” Zach says once they’re done. They’ve made a mess on Willy’s belly and Zach’s kind of into it, rubbing their come into Willy’s skin.

Willy yawns and stretches elegantly. “Yeah?” he says, sounding pleased.

“Something with your number on it,” Zach says thoughtfully. They’ll have to go straight to morning skate from here.

Willy grins. “Yeah. I think I’ve got a few things you can wear.”


End file.
